


Two AA Batteries Required

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Kinks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-13
Updated: 2007-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean stays at the bar until they call last call, nursing his bottle of Bud and wondering if three hours in the middle of the night is enough "alone time" for Sam.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title** \- Two AA Batteries Required  
**Pairing** \- Sam/Dean  
**Rating** \- nc17  
**Word Count** \- 2000  
**Spoilers** \- none. that would mean there was PLOT, of which this fic has very little.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_**Two AA Batteries Required**_  
  
  
  
Dean stays at the bar until they call last call, nursing his bottle of Bud and wondering if three hours in the middle of the night is enough "alone time" for Sam.   
  
The problem is that they're together constantly. Dean gets that. Hell, he needs some time away from Sam every once in a while, too. But when Dean wants some alone time, he leaves Sam in the library with his pointy nose in a book and goes walking up and down the street drinking a cup of coffee and dealing with the thoughts in his head. When _Sam_ wants alone time, he kicks Dean out of the room in the middle of the night with nothing more than a grunt of "Gimme a few hours, man," and a shove to the shoulder.   
  
When it happened tonight, Dean had rolled his eyes. "Time for your bi-weekly manicure or something?" He had to move fast to duck the punch Sam tried to land, but Dean was quick. Way quicker than his brother.   
  
"Shut up, Dean." Sam grunted, fist flying through the air again. Dean grinned even wider, bobbing and weaving every time Sam tried to hit him, until Sam finally gave up, his hands tossed in the air. Ha.   
  
Dean's eyes dropped from Sam's chest to below his belt and he let out a full belly laugh. So _that_ was the reason for the sudden desire for alone time. "Oh, I get it," Dean nodded at the visible bulge in Sam's jeans. "Why didn't you just say you felt like relishing your hot dog?" He didn't think it was possible, but Sam's face flushed even redder.   
  
"Fuck off." Sam's voice was gravel-rough.   
  
Dean chuckled and hooked a finger in the belt loop of Sam's jeans. His brother stumbled, caught off balance, and nearly fell on top of him, and come on. Who needed "alone time" when they could have _Dean_?  
  
"Come on, Sammy." Dean pressed his lips against Sam's throat, feeling the skin jump and heat under his mouth. Sam grabbed Dean's jacket to yank him closer - and hell yeah, _that_ was what Dean was talking about - but just as he went to pull Sam against him and throw them both on the bed, Sam shoved his palm against Dean's chest _hard_.  
  
Dean's hands had flapped in the air. " _Dude_."  
  
"Just gimme a few hours, Dean, all right?" Sam was running a hand through his hair and doing his best to stare a hole in the wall over Dean's left shoulder.   
  
"Okay, okay. Sheesh." Dean grabbed his jacket from the small desk chair, and within a few seconds he was patting his pockets for his keys and trying to remember where the nearest bar was. "Me habla English, dude. You don't have to tell me twice."  
  
Sam smiled, and even though he looked a little more relaxed, his eyes were drawn down and meek. Man, he did _not_ want Dean around for this, whatever _this_ was.   
  
"Try not to wear yourself out, all right, Spanky?" Dean called over his shoulder, but Sam was already shoving him out the door, muttering a _later, man_ under his breath, and shit. Whatever, Sam. Yikes.   
  
Now though, three hours have passed and Dean's tired of making small talk with the bartender (nice guy named Dave, going to school for his physical therapy degree, and Jesus, Dean just doesn't _care_ about this pimply-faced yokel.)   
  
Dean settles his measley tab and decides he's had enough. Sam's _Good Will Humping_ marathon has to come to an end sometime, right? Might as well be now.   
  
He makes it back to the motel in less than ten minutes, and after fucking with the lock on the door for way too long in the freezing night air, pushes it open with a "Ready or not, Sammy, here I come."  
  
And good holy _fuck_ , Dean nearly pisses himself right there in the goddamn doorway.   
  
Because Sam's not watching porn, on the TV or the internet or anything else. There are no movies, no sticky magazine spreads. The only porn in the room is _Sam_ , and Dean thinks he might have just jizzed in his shorts from watching him.   
  
"What the _fuck_ , Sam?" Dean manages to say, and god, his voice hasn't done that horrible twist since he was going through puberty. This though - seeing what he's seeing now - well, Dean thinks he's maybe earned himself a little leeway.   
  
Sam turns his head and lets long lashes flutter up, his eyes, sleepy and fucked out as they look at Dean. As cold as it is outside, in the room the heat feels like it's turned up to about a hundred and twenty. Dean has to remind himself to breathe.   
  
"Dean," Sam whispers, and Dean forces himself to look down from Sam's face, his wet, pink mouth, over smooth pecs and abs, down to where the sheets are kicked to the foot of the bed. Sam's heels are planted in the mattress, muscular thighs quivering as he pushes up and up, over and over again, his hand-  
  
Dean can hear the hum now and it's nothing more than a dull, muted buzz. It gets louder and softer every time Sam's hand moves, and Dean's shocked stupid. He knows what he's seeing - that's Sam, his brother, the guy that Dean fucks - fucking himself with a-  
  
Okay. So maybe Dean isn't really sure what he's seeing.   
  
"Sam, what the fuck are you doing?"  
  
Sam smiles, looking flushed and well fucked, and says, "C'mere. I'll show you."  
  
Dean's not moving. He's not yanking his jacket off, letting it slip from his shoulders and hit the floor. He's not rubbing a hand over his mouth, and watching as Sam's hand keeps moving in and out, the toy (dildo. Sam's using a fucking _dildo_ ) sliding in deeper, then back out, over and over, his dick twitching where it lies blood-red and hard on his belly.   
  
He's not climbing on the bed next to Sam, letting his hands twist into sweat-damp sheets, smelling come and sex and _Sam_ all around him. Dean's not doing any of that, just like he's _definitely_ not lying down next to his brother and letting one hand press against his chest, slicking over sweaty skin and feeling Sam's heart thud against his palm.   
  
Except for how he's doing all of those things.   
  
Sam sucks in a breath when Dean touches him, his body curling up and into Dean's heat. "Fuck, Dean," Sam hisses. His hand is moving faster now, quicker strokes, each one driving deeper and deeper. His mouth is shocked open wide, and he's gasping for breath. Dean can't not kiss him.   
  
Sam kisses back like he's desperate, like he's dying. He grunts and moans in Dean's mouth, and the whole thing, everything about this is getting Dean off. Sam fucking himself, the breathless, needy moans he's puffing against Dean's lips. Dean wants this to last a hundred years, wants to see what Sam's doing so he can remember it for the rest of his life.   
  
"Is it good, Sammy?" Dean's voice croaks out, rough and unused. The sight of Sam's hard, wet cock should be enough, but he wants to hear Sam say it. Wants to hear it from his brother's mouth how good it is.   
  
"Yeah." Sam pushes harder, arches up higher, his chest pressing against Dean's shirt. Dean can't stop himself from reaching down and running his fingers over the head of Sam's dick. Sam shakes and moans and Dean pulls back, not wanting Sam to come yet.   
  
"Dean, what--"  
  
"Let-" his voice gets tangled in his throat. Dean never thought he'd be asking this, but hell. Him and Sam have been doing a _lot_ of things Dean had never thought about. This will just add one to the list. "Let me do it, Sam. I want to."  
  
"God, yeah." Sam's eyes blow open, and Dean can't help it. He leans down and kisses the thin skin next to Sam's eye just because he can.   
  
The sheets slip and slide as Dean moves down, his head level with Sam's chest, his arm lying over his belly reaching down to twist their fingers together on the toy. Sam's hand shakes. His skin is hot and clammy, and Dean can feel the vibrations against his hand when he curls it around Sam's, holding the dildo in.   
  
"Dean-"  
  
"Let go," Dean instructs. Sam sucks in a breath and nods, his fingers loosening and falling away.   
  
Dean lifts his head, can't believe he's doing this, watching himself, but there he is, slowly tugging away from Sam's body until just the tip is inside, then sliding it back in, inch by inch.   
  
Sam's arm falls to the side. Dean can hear the sheets yanking and twisting in his fingers, and he closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of Sam's skin, tastes salt on his lips when he kisses his chest.   
  
"Do it," Sam licks his lips and pushes up against Dean's hand. "Do it harder."  
  
And fuck, that has Dean grinding the heel of his other hand hard against his own dick. He'll be damned if he's fucking Sam open with eight inches of vibrating plastic and comes first just from watching him. Screw that.   
  
Out slow, then back in, pushing harder, tilting up and watching the way Sam begs and moans for Dean to _touch him, right there, fuck, Dean, just fuck me already_.  
  
Dean laughs darkly. "You made your bed, Sammy. You wanted to stay home with this instead…"  
  
Sam's hand flies to the back of Dean's head and yanks him down to bite at his mouth. "I changed my mind," Sam pants. His breath is hot and a little sour, and if Dean doesn't get in Sam's ass soon there's going to be a hell of a mess in his shorts. "You don't fuck me now and I'll-"  
  
"You'll what, Princess?" Dean looks down. Watches his hand fuck Sam open, and smiles. "I don't think you're in much of a position to tell me what to do, Samantha."  
  
"Fuck, Dean, I'll-" Sam tries to finish, but Dean twists his one hand and curls the other around Sam's dick, pulling hard on the head. Sam bites his lip and curses, doing nothing but coming all over Dean's fist.   
  
"Yeah," Dean murmurs, kissing Sam's shoulder. "That's what I thought."  
  
He takes a minute to let Sam relax, let his body calm down, before he slides the dildo out and tossing it lightly on the bed. Sam is curled up into his side, breathing damply against Dean's collar, his hand tucked in a fist against Dean's chest.   
  
"Gimme a second and I'll take care of you," Sam mumbles.   
  
Dean smoothes the hair away from Sam's forehead and grins. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"Good." He can feel Sam smile as he says, "Because, you know, we can try-"  
  
"No." Dean's a pretty adventurous guy, but even he has his limits. "Don't even think you're putting that thing up my ass."  
  
"I put my _dick_ up your ass," Sam argues.   
  
Dean shoves back so he can see Sam's face. His brother is grinning, but looks halfway serious, which, no. "Yeah. Well."  
  
"And my dick is _way_ bigger than that."  
  
Dean glances to the foot of the bed, then at Sam's dick and shrugs.   
  
"Oh, come _on_." Sam's pushing him now, and Dean can't help it. He cracks up laughing. "Don't even _tell_ me you think I'm smaller than that thing."  
  
And this will be good for a few days at least. Dean lies back with his arms stretched over his head and ignores the hard on in his jeans for a minute. Busting Sam's balls is always more fun. "It's all right, Sammy. They always say it's not the size that matters."  
  
When Sam covers Dean's face with the pillow and holds it there until he's gasping for breath, Dean can't even say he's surprised.   
  
  
-end-


End file.
